


Vox Populi

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Alternate Universe]   After Admiral Marcus and his organisation built a barrier around San Francisco, Kirk and his team must liberate the city. But what will happen when a mysterious John Harrison offers to help them reach Marcus?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vox Populi

**Author's Note:**

> So, to be perfectly honest, I don't know how this fanfic is going to play out...Hopefully well :) I do really like the idea, but whether or not I can pull it off, I really don't know x)

When he was a boy, he saw the Wall being built. He didn’t know why it was there, or what purpose it served. All that he knew was that he was going to have to protect it, and the people inside.

Marcus had trained him. He had trained all of them. And although the name haunted him, he was somewhat thankful for the skills the man had given him. Soon, he thought, he would use those very skills to take him down.

Until then, he remained outside the Wall, wandering the wastelands in hope of an opportunity to return. And he found it.

 

*

 

Jim knocked back his third shot, the sour taste still lingering in his mouth. Across the room, he kept his watch on his men positioned around the bar. Even in low light, he could see the outlines of the team still haunting the shadows, keeping watch for their man.

Watching the casual goings on of the run-down bar and its tenants, Jim suddenly felt a cold chill run up his spine, despite the scorching weather outside and the layers of clothes he had on. He heard the creak of the door hinges from the far side of the bar. Not bothering to look over his shoulder, Jim caught the gaze of Bones sitting on the opposite side of the counter. Jim shot him a questioning look, to which Bones just nodded.

_We got him._

He inclined his head, gesturing for his oldest friend to leave the bar counter and cause a distraction. It only had to be a minor one, just to take the attention the target was giving off him. Bones had seamlessly blended into the crowd, disappearing from Jim’s view. Just as Bones left his sight, Spock had appeared a few feet away, standing idly at the other side of the counter. The pair had made eye contact for a split second before a loud thump, followed by a series of shouts in different languages. Jim reached for the glass he had been drinking from and slid it across the table to Spock’s outstretched hand, when he swung it at the head of a man dressed in a clean-cut uniform. _Starfleet_ , Jim recognised. _One of Marcus’ men._

Turning away from the counter, Jim soon spotted his mark. He covered the ground between them quickly, despite the all out war that they had waged in the bar. The man had been trying to fend off some of the foreign aliens picking fights with just about anyone. When the man had spun around, Jim was right infront of him, driving a small knife he had picked up from one of the wooden tables into the man’s side.

Using some new-found leverage he had over the man, Jim flung him down onto the table, hovering over him while Bones and Spock dealt with his crew. Jim leaned down so they were inches apart, “where’s Marcus?” he hissed into the man’s face.  
The man responded by smiling scenically, eyes suddenly rolling to the back of his head and going limp in Jim’s grasp.

Jim threw the lifeless body onto the table, noticing the stream of white emitting from the man’s mouth. He was quickly joined by Bones and Spock. “Cyanide,” Bones muttered, sounding more annoyed than usual.

Jim ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “What do we do now?” Bones continued, letting Spock lean forward to search the man. Jim had spun on his heels and marched away, cursing to himself.

“Cyanide! How did I overlook the fact that Marcus would give cyanide pills to his men?!” he roared.  
“It’s a common mistake to make, Jim,” Spock said, letting the body tumble to the floor when nothing of particular interest was found.  
“I got nothing form him! This whole plan was just a waste of time,” he grumbled, pacing around the bar, ignoring the crunching of glass under his boots.

Bones was about to console his friend when a call came through on his communicator. “What now?” Jim barked. Neither Bones nor Spock could hear what was being said, but by Jim’s sudden change in tone that it was Carol.

 “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” he finished before putting the communicator back into his pocket. “Sulu might have found a way past the Wall.”

Spock and Bones looked at the blond with wide eyes. “James,” Spock began. “The Wall wraps around an entire city, its guarded by the most ruthless guards Marcus can employ and no one has ever found a way inside and survived.”  
“No one has ever found a way out either,” Bones muttered behind the Vulcan.  
“I did,” Jim stated.  
“You were a kid,” Bones shot back. “And it was your dad who got you out.”

Jim stared blankly at Bones, letting his words etch into his mind. “We’re going back to the base.”

 

*

 

John had found refuge under a small overhanging rock jutting out from one of the many sand dunes that littered the wastelands. Though being an augment had its advantages, being shrouded in cold shade from the sun was a welcomed relief.

John took a deep breath and pushed his black hair back from his face, letting his head tilt back and thump against the hard rock. He had been walking for what seemed to be days without any sight of civilisation. Well, of course there were shabby little sites of aliens, but compared to John, they were ants. He needed people who could help him.

John’s eyes shot open when he heard the faint sound of people talking. It wasn’t the harsh sounds of guttural aliens, but English words. Crawling out of his place under the shade, he saw the blurred outline of three men walking across the sands, cloaked in brown and black tunics and coats.

John scanned the three individuals and, although he couldn’t make out a lot from his position, he smirked to himself. _They could be of some service._

John threw on his long black overcoat and reached for his discarded duffle-bag. He draped it over his shoulder and trudged through the sands, eyes locked firmly on the three silhouettes off in the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> Lets all pray to whatever God you believe in that this is work out...Otherwise I'm going to feel like a failure.


End file.
